


Set it to W for Whump

by ghostgirl19



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Assassin!Link, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Febuwhump, Ganon's Champion!Link, Mafia Boss!Link, Mess with Link and Zelda will be coming for you, Pirate Captain!Link, Romance, but it's sometimes unhealthy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:22:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29148153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostgirl19/pseuds/ghostgirl19
Summary: A collection of whump prompts for Febuwhump that will also be posted on my Tumblr. Zelink will be the main pairing, prompts vary from T to M rating.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 105





	1. Mind Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T for Astor being a creep

Astor cannot believe how simple the answer is.

In order for the princess to obtain her destined power, all she has to do is feel and think of unconditional love. So easy in theory, yet it proves to be quite the formidable challenge when faced with a father never looking past her failures, and a court of vipers whose whispers of disdain always drift by the young princess’s ears.

It’s no wonder that love is the furthest thing from her mind when she begs for the sacred power to no avail.

For years, Astor didn’t think he had anything to worry about. The only person that loved Zelda openly was the Gerudo Chief Urbosa, but her visits were few and far in between. She never stayed long enough for Zelda to reflect on their close bond when praying.

As Zelda grew older, eligible men never remained long in her presence. No one wanted a failure of a princess, to be the companion to the heir of a throne of nothing. And for her part, Zelda appeared to want nothing to do with them either. All she seemed to care about was dabbling with the Sheikah technology and praying for a power he knew would never come.

Truly, unconditional love seemed to be unreachable for the despondent princess. That is, until _he_ was assigned to be her appointed knight.

He, being Link: Hylian Champion and the bearer of the sword that seals the darkness. He first presented himself to the court upon pulling the sword at 13, and while Astor noticed the hero’s gaze linger a bit too long after the princess, he figured it was nothing to be concerned about.

Link was just a 13-year-old boy, barely on the cusp of manhood. Boys his age staring at pretty girls wasn’t anything unusual. It was just a passing attraction, a fleeting crush at most. It would go away once the next attractive girl caught his eye.

However, to his chagrin, it didn’t go away. In fact, the longing gazes only seemed to burn hotter at 17, lit by a fire only maturity could give.

And Zelda, while displeased at the notion of having a glorified babysitter about to be foisted upon her, hadn’t hid her looks of appreciation as well has she might have thought.

A princess and her knight, Hero and Heroine, two souls reborn to fight the great evil time and time again. They’re practically soulmates; it’d only be a matter of time before love would blossom between them.

Obviously, Astor couldn’t let that come to pass.

A knock at the door jars him from his thoughts.

“Astor?”

It’s _her_ voice. He doesn’t give her time to speak more before he hastens to open the door.

She blinks in surprise at the sudden motion, while Astor takes the time to note with satisfaction that Link is nowhere to be seen. His official appointment isn’t scheduled until tomorrow, but that didn’t stop the little pest from constantly hovering around the princess.

Opportunities to get her alone were quickly becoming scarce, and so when he heard that Link would be sparring with a group of new soldiers this afternoon, he knew he had to take this chance and strike.

In a way he almost pities the knight. The one time he lets her out of his sight, and she walks headlong into the most dangerous room in the castle.

“Astor? You requested my presence?”

He clears his throat and looks at her with his most charming, unassuming smile. It’s fooled the king for years; his daughter should prove no different.

“Ah, yes. Please come in, Your Highness.”

Zelda eyes him warily. Something tingles in her stomach while something else gnaws at her brain. Something isn’t right. For some reason she’s always held reservations about the fortune teller, even while her father trusted him so openly.

However, Astor mentioned in his note that he figured out a way to summon her sacred power faster. She knows time is running out and she’s growing increasingly desperate. Thus, she was forced to put aside all her misgivings and answer the request.

Ultimately, she nods once, careful to keep her mask of neutrality in place as she sweeps into the room with a grace only befitting of a princess.

He follows after her with that sickly sweet smile still plastered on his face, never letting it slip even as he invites her to sit. Zelda does so, if a bit reluctantly.

She takes a moment to observe her unfamiliar surroundings. Bookcases crowd the walls of the small, dim room, and if she focuses, she can make out a few titles on the spines. They vary from divine intervention, to dark arts, to history, and-

“Thank you for allowing me the grace of your audience this afternoon, Princess,” Astor says, cutting off her musings as the rules of a genteel society regrettably force her to look at him while he’s speaking to her.

He’s still smiling, and for reasons she can’t explain, it unnerves her down to her bones.

She clears her throat. “Yes, that. You said you found a faster way in which I may be able to harness my sacred power?”

She doesn’t bother with pleasantries, preferring to get straight to the point. After all, she doesn’t want to be here any longer than necessary.

Astor nods gleefully. “Yes, I have. We can get started on the preparation now, if you’d like.”

“Preparation?”

“Yes, there is a little preparation involved. It’s rather simple, actually. All you must do is relax.”

Zelda lifts a brow. No one’s ever told her to relax in her life.

Meanwhile, Astor pays no mind to her skepticism and offers to light the incense. Before Zelda can say whether or not she approves, he takes the liberty of lighting them anyway. It isn’t long after that a sweetly heady, musky scent filters through the air.

Zelda breathes in deeply and can already feel her muscles relaxing. It smells sort of like the incense she sometimes burns to help her sleep at night. Similar, but not exact, although the effects seem to be largely the same. Her eyelids are drooping and she’s slumped back in the chair, unable to maintain her rigid posture any longer.

She can’t find it in herself to care that she’s letting her guard down. Astor said he found a way for her to access her power, and in order to do that she needs to relax. Doesn’t seem too bad of a preparation.

“Shhh,” the voice of Astor murmurs somewhere behind her, low and soothing to her senses. “Breathe in deeply, Zelda, and slowly breathe out. Let the incense wash over your mind, let your body relax.”

Zelda doesn’t find any reason to disagree. Besides, she hasn’t relaxed in years. The offer is too tempting to ignore.

“That’s it,” he praises, and his hands land on her shoulders. He leans down and purrs in her ear, the low timbre of his words slow and drawn out. “You can feel your muscles slacken. Your eyes are heavy, but you’re fighting to keep them open. Close them, Zelda. Surrender yourself to my voice.” 

The dim, sensual lighting provided by the candles, the incense that clouds her mind enough to coax her into obeying any suggestion, the rich, decadent tones of his voice…

Her head falls forward, eyes slid shut.

Astor grins against the lobe of her tapered ear.

“Very good. Say ‘yes’ if you can hear me, Zelda.”

“Yes.” It’s slurred and it comes across as a borderline moan, but it’s there.

He fights from smiling wider. Here she is, the headstrong Princess of Hyrule, reduced to utter putty in his hands, free and malleable for him to play with and shape in any form. It’s tempting to manipulate her beyond his initial business, but he knows he’s on borrowed time. That damned Hero could be looking for her any minute now.

“Listen to me closely, Zelda. There is a knight in the castle who claims himself to be the Hero. He possesses the sword that seals the darkness. His name is Link.”

“Link?” she mumbles, and for a second he swears his heart stops when she sluggishly picks up her head and her eyes slip open.

He grits his teeth and bites back the urge to growl. It seems that boy has his claws dug deeper into the princess than he initially suspected. Why, it’s as though as soon as she heard Link’s name, something in her mind sparked with recognition to seek out her protector, knowing the kind of danger its host is under.

However, to his relief, it’s plain to see she’s still under the trance. Her eyes lack awareness, almost as if a fog has filled the usually bright, emerald irises.

He sighs deeply, willing himself to relax else all his efforts will be for naught, then bends forward again to her ear.

“Yes, Link. You hate him. He is the living reminder of your own failures. He was able to fulfill his destiny so easily without enduring any hardship, yet here you are, ten years of praying with nothing to show for it. You hate him, and he despises you in return for failing to harness your sacred power. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she replies, bland and without emotion, still perfectly under the trance.

“Good. Tomorrow he will be officially appointed as your knight. He will be forced to follow you everywhere to protect you. Never believe for a moment that he enjoys your company, that he likes doing his job. Spurn every act of kindness he tries to do; he’s lying to you. Remember that he loathes having to protect a daughter of Hylia with no potential. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

He smirks. His plan is commencing wonderfully; even he is surprised at how easy it is to bend her to his will.

“Good girl,” he purrs, and because he can’t resist, presses his lips to the smooth, unblemished skin of her cheek.

Of course, she makes no indication that she’s aware of what he did. Idly, he wonders what the hero would do if he saw.

_Heh, probably drive the Master Sword through my skull._

He moves back to her ear, voice silky smooth and tantalizing as ever to obey.

“You hate him. And you will continue to hate him, until-”

 _-until I say otherwise_ , which would be never. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to finish the crucial statement, for his words are abruptly cut off by three, brisk knocks on the door that have the princess jumping in her chair.

Astor refrains from cursing his rotten luck as she darts her head to and fro, as if waking from a disturbing dream.

“Oh, I seem to have dozed off,” she says at last, breathless and flustered. “I apologize, Astor. What was it you were going to tell me? About my power?”

He clears his throat. “Ah, that. Well, it’s-”

Again, he’s cut off by more knocking, except this time it sounds like a fist pounding against the wood. Astor clenches his jaw and moves to open it, lest the blasted knight punch the door off its hinges.

When he opens it, he strains to keep his temper in check as he locks eyes with the cursed hero. While Astor has the decency to muster a smile to curve his lips, no matter how false, the knight does not bother to extend the same courtesy.

The frown never lifts from his mouth, and those piercing blue eyes that threaten to strike his soul and see him for the fraud his is, narrow slightly in suspicion.

“You! What are you doing here?!”

Link’s eyes dart past Astor to see the princess, who is standing and aiming a _very_ displeased scowl on the knight. Astor internally smirks as he watches the hero’s features lightly slacken with surprise.

Seems like the hypnosis worked.

Zelda glares at him hatefully but the look softens when she peers up at Astor.

“So…? About my power?” she asks hesitantly, daring to hope.

She shouldn’t dare. He’s going to enjoy crushing it.

“Yes, Princess,” he says, smiling wickedly. “As I was saying, the fastest way to harness your power is…through prayer.”

Her face falls. He scarcely withholds a laugh.

“Prayer…?” she chokes out. Heh, the girl looks like she’s about to cry.

Astor ignores the knight’s hand creeping towards the winged hilt on his back.

“Yes, Your Highness, intense prayer. That is the key to unlocking your sacred power.”

“Oh,” she mumbles, forlorn gaze cast down. “I was afraid of that. Thank you anyway, Astor.”

With a sweep of her skirts, she brushes past Link, too disappointed to give him any more of her ire. But that’s alright; he’s confident that there will be plenty of other opportunities for her tongue to fly.

For a brief while, Link remains rooted in his spot. While he’s not gripping the Master Sword, his eyes are beginning to prove to be a weapon all on their own, and it’s all Astor could do to keep from gulping.

Nonetheless, he maintains the carefully prepared, innocent smile. Because there’s no way that Link knows what he’s done. He can’t know that Astor is responsible for the princess’s newfound abhorrence for him. He couldn’t have seen Astor’s dirty hands on her delicate shoulders, nor his filthy mouth tainting her pure cheek.

He can’t know, yet Astor can’t shake off the sickening tendril of fear that somehow, he _does_.

Those eyes narrow to thin, dangerous slits, and just when Astor is about to crack and speak—of what, he doesn’t even know, all-powerful seer that he is—Link turns and strides off down the hallway in the same direction as the princess.

Astor breathes a sigh of relief, yet he knows the feeling won’t last.

He dreads what her subconscious will supply to fill in the crucial gap that ‘until’ left behind.


	2. I can't take this anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M for suggestive themes, though nothing explicit is described. Dubious consent. Implied sexual content.

The takeover had been brutally swift.

The Guardians were corrupted, and the Divine Beasts eventually succumbed to the same tragic fate. Their pilots, the four Champions she recruited herself to help defend Hyrule against the approaching Calamity, were mercilessly killed.

Towns were destroyed, reduced to mere husks of what they once were. The Hylian population was decimated; it would take years to reproduce their numbers. Taking her kingdom back would be impossible without an army. The survivors may never know the taste of freedom again.

Her father was readily executed. Zelda’s was scheduled for the next day at noon.

It was to be expected, after all. She was the princess, the heir to what was once the glorious Kingdom of Hyrule. It only made sense to execute her, and Zelda had come to accept it. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had much to live for at that point.

So, when noon of the next day came and went and no one retrieved her, Zelda was understandably confused. Ganon couldn’t have forgotten. There was simply no way he could overlook a threat, no matter how small, to his budding empire.

The only other answer was that he chose to spare her, but why? Wouldn’t he want to eradicate Hylia’s bloodline once and for all after countless years of reincarnation? Why would he let her live?

She got her answer that night when a young, timid maid came to her cell with a key and to escort her to her new lodgings. From then on, she would be confined to a lavish bedchamber instead of the cold and dark cell she had grown accustomed to over the past few days.

A bottle of contraceptive elixir was left on the table for her, along with a handwritten summons to come into the room connected to hers at midnight.

Being Ganon’s personal toy would be a fate worse than death. And it seemed that he predicted her opinion on the matter, since she couldn’t find any sharp objects in the room that she could use to finally end it all.

Well, at least she wouldn’t be forced to birth the demon’s spawn.

A pair of maids had drawn a warm bath for her, something Zelda didn’t think she’d ever have the pleasure of partaking in again. All of the dirt and grime accumulated on her body was gently scrubbed away, replaced with sweetly scented oils and shampoos that left a heady haze in her mind.

She was prepped to perfection. Hair brushed until it glowed with a soft shine. Draped in a satin nightgown the color of freshly fallen snow from Mount Lanayru and just as pure. Her neck and wrists lacked any jewelry; apparently Ganon preferred her ‘natural beauty’ be not impeded by tacky baubles.

Under other circumstances, she could imagine this would be something like the preparation for her wedding night. However, she felt more like a virgin sacrifice, or a prize won after the war, than a happy bride.

At ten minutes till midnight, the maids solemnly bowed their heads in farewell and left the room. At five minutes till midnight, Zelda swallowed every last drop of the bitter contraceptive elixir. And at midnight exactly, she released the breath she’d been holding and opened the door.

…

Ganon’s Champion is formidable in his own right.

He is a soldier of the highest caliber. Many of her men were said to be slain by his sword. He is Ganon’s most trusted ally and is almost always seen standing stonily by his side.

And he is also the man who saved her life.

Yet, she can’t exactly find the inclination to fall to her knees and thank him for it. After all, the only reason he persuaded Ganon to spare her in the first place was so he could keep her for himself.

She’s never been sure what to make of a man who mercilessly kills others without hesitation, yet took one glance at her and lusted after her so much he decided then and there he had to have her. 

And have her he did.

Every night she is ordered to his room, and every night she shares his bed. Admittedly, the arrangement is more agreeable than becoming the personal bedmate of Ganon. Where Ganon is older and heartless, Link is young and a passionate lover, something she never would’ve expected from his stoic frowns and stiff shoulders. He’s also rather handsome…well, in most areas.

It’s just that right eye of his. That unnerving eye she makes a point of looking away from during their trysts. His left eye, nose, mouth, everywhere else on his body is fair game to look at. It’s just his right eye she can’t stomach.

There’s something wrong with it. While the left is normal, made of a rather lovely shade of blue that reminds her of a cloudless sky in summer, the right is simply chilling. Where the white of his eye should be has been reduced to a bottomless black that threatens to swallow her whole. Instead of a calming blue like its partner, the iris is an animalistic slit comprised of a toxic orange color that pierces her soul.

She can’t stand to look at it, and he never comments on her inability to. Well, that’s one good thing in his favor. Otherwise, she hates this, despite Link being a slightly better alternative to Ganon.

Because all he does is use her for his own sick, twisted pleasure. He doesn’t care about her, only the carnal gratification she can provide. Whenever she’s not in his room she’s locked in hers. For Hylia knows how long (because what even is time, anymore?) she’s only seen her room and his. She can’t even walk around her own home.

And frankly, she’s tired of it. Normally, she would never express her ire to him, but something seizes her and takes control one night. A feeling, an urge, buried deep, deep down she’s been suppressing for years, even before Ganon.

This is probably the most foolish thing she’s ever done in her life, and will likely be the last. But the dam has already been broken and her temper is pouring out to flood the room. She’s started, and now she can’t stop.

“I can’t take this anymore!”

His hands, which were gripping her forearms and prepared to pull her closer to him, slacken and fall. He draws back and his perfect, blue eye is a blank slate. She resists the urge to check the right one, lest she lose her nerve and drop the matter.

Otherwise, he has that look on his face, that stone-cold stare that shields his thoughts. It’s the one he bore when she was first presented to Ganon, on her knees and in chains while her usurper perched himself comfortably on his stolen throne. Link had stood stiffly by his side, with that unwavering flinty stare aimed solely on her.

It’s hard to believe that’s when something sparked in his heart for her.

“I’m sick of coming to your bed every night at your command! I’m sick of being used as a plaything, solely for the benefit of your own pleasure. I’m sick of being locked up, forbidden to walk around my own home. Yes, _my_ home! It’s still mine, even though that monster stole it.”

His eyes narrow infinitesimally. Out of the corner of her eye she can see his right glowing hotter in budding anger, but she holds fast to her refusal to look directly. She concentrates her glare on the left one.

“I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t stand this twisted romance you have me trapped in. I refuse to take part in this any longer!”

With an irritated huff, she turns and marches back to her room.

“Zelda.”

She ignores him.

“Zelda!”

There’s a dark undercurrent of anger in his voice. A chill runs down her spine and her steps falter, but she keeps going.

Her hand is hovering above the doorknob when he snaps, “Zelda, stop!”

She freezes, but not of her own volition. She can’t move, no matter how much she tries.

_What…what is this?!_

Panic seizes her heart in its icy grip. She can’t move. She can’t move. Her hand won’t obey her mind to turn the doorknob and her legs won’t listen to her calls to run.

What did he-?!

“Turn around.”

She slowly turns in a half-circle to face him. However, it isn’t of her own doing.

The breath chills in her lungs as he cruelly smirks and crooks a finger at her.

“Come here.”

Her right leg rises to do his bidding, followed slowly by the left. She can’t feel them as they move; it’s almost as if her legs are a piece of machinery meant for others to command. Gritting her teeth, she fights to halt, mentally screams to her legs to cease walking. Yet her efforts are in vain. Nothing is working. No amount of willpower will break this compulsion he has over her body.

_How? How is he doing this?!_

To her growing horror, she keeps walking until she’s nestled in his arms. With a wicked quirk of his lips, he takes her by the shoulders and turns them so they’re facing the vanity’s mirror.

She looks down to avoid that malicious eye.

He lowers his head to where his lips are poised over her ear.

“I can imagine the researcher in you is working herself to death wondering how I did that just now. Am I right?”

She bites her lower lip in equal parts shame, rage, and humiliation.

He doesn’t wait for an answer she won’t give.

“Do you remember that second night in your cell? I’m sure you were still exhausted from the events leading to Ganon’s rule, but you felt strangely tired that night after your dinner, didn’t you?”

Her eyes widen, then narrow in angry suspicion. She sharply returns her gaze to the left eye.

“What did you do?” she hisses, although she has a clue of what he did.

He kisses her cheek, and he must still have control over her body since she can’t jerk her face away.

“In my defense, it was Ganon’s idea, not mine. As part of the deal for permitting me to have you, you had to become infected with malice. Not enough to corrupt your mind, just a little so that I would be able to stop you if you ever thought to rebel against me.”

She has malice inside her?! But she’s always felt completely normal! Is this permanent? Will she be able to get it out? She may have never obtained the sacred power that her birthright entitled her to, but even without that, shouldn’t the blood of the Goddess repelled the evil tainting her body?

Perhaps the Goddesses truly have abandoned her.

The grin abruptly drops from his face and is replaced with a livid baring of his teeth.

“Did you forget who you belong to?”

Without preamble, he snatches the back of her hair and roughly tugs back, eliciting a sharp gasp from Zelda as her neck is vulnerably displayed to him. His other arm snakes tightly around her waist in a possessive hold.

She’s helplessly trapped in the stare of that accursed right eye’s reflection as he bends his head to hiss lowly over her neck.

“You’re mine. If I want you in my bed every night for the rest of our lives, then I will have you. If I want to treat you as a toy used only for my own pleasure, then I will. And if I want to keep you locked in your room for the rest of your days, then that is where you will stay. This isn’t your castle anymore, _Princess_ , it’s Ganon’s, whether you like it or not. You have no control here. I don’t know where you got this foolish notion that you have the power to refuse me, but it ends now. You will not speak of it again, do you understand?”

Something stirs within her. Fear and…something else she doesn’t want to put a name to. It burns and coils treacherously between her legs.

A short tug on her hair prompts her eyes to flutter open. She didn’t even realize she had shut them.

That right, glowing eye is narrowed. He wants a verbal answer; her labored sigh isn’t going to cut it.

“Yes, I-I understand.”

He’s extra rough with her that night.


	3. Imprisonment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Day 2, "I can't take this anymore."  
> Rating: M

“You know,” she murmurs sweetly, lightly tracing small circles on his chest with the tip of her index finger. “You’re rather strong, too.”

“‘Too?’” he repeats amusedly, glancing down at her with a rare warmth in his blue eye. He follows the same pattern as she, only his finger dances along her bare shoulder blade.

She nods, then nuzzles closer to his bicep supporting her head.

“Mhmm. I think you’re just as strong as Ganon, maybe even more so.”

He chuckles good-naturedly. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I’m merely voicing my opinion. Why shouldn’t I think you’re stronger than Ganon? You’re his best soldier after all, and I heard that you...”

She pauses, her voice breaking in momentary grief. Link at least has the decency to lean down and press a kiss to the crown of her hair in hopes of comforting her. Sometimes she forgets what he’s capable of during his affectionate moments of post-coital bliss.

She ultimately swallows the pain and trudges on, taking care to ensure her tone retains the honeyed texture she initially started with.

“I heard that you fell five men with just a single swing of your sword. That’s no easy feat.”

“Sounds like my spin attack,” he muses, a touch of arrogant pride in his voice.

Zelda doesn’t think it’s anything to be proud of. However, she doesn’t let him know that. She’s about to chart into dangerous territory; one misspoken word could spell disaster.

She needs to sufficiently butter him up before she moves in for the kill.

“Hmm.” Her finger slows, the delicate rotations of the circle becoming more deliberate on his skin. “With skill like that, you must not have any weaknesses.”

When he doesn’t say anything in response, she glances up at his face in trepidation, almost fearful that she offended him somehow and her scheme has bitterly failed. Thankfully, he doesn’t appear angered by what she said, but that doesn’t make her any less cautious.

His brows are slightly pinched, his mouth set in a pensive line. He stares at the ceiling above, although she ascertains from the glaze over his eyes that he doesn’t truly see it. His finger stills on her shoulder, ceasing with the lazily traced circles. For all intents and purposes, he appears to be trapped in a stasis-like state of being.

Just about she’s about to call his name to come back to her, unable to bear the suspense any longer, he releases the breath he’d been holding and his hand grasps her shoulder. He tugs her toward him, causing Zelda to emit a soft, surprised ‘oof’ as she comes to land on his chest.

His other arm wraps around her lower back and presses her impossibly closer. If she didn’t know any better, she’d get the impression that his embrace is a…dare she say, protective sort.

Confused, she chances a peek up at him and is a bit disconcerted as she sees him frowning.

“No,” he finally murmurs, not meeting her inquisitive stare. “No weaknesses.”

His reaction is perplexing to say the least. However, most importantly, he doesn’t seem mad at her. She takes this as a good sign and charges up her momentum to continue along with her plan.

“Just as I thought,” she says and resumes her circular pattern, this time over his heart. She feels it strongly beat in a steady rhythm underneath the pad of her finger. “That’s part of what makes you stronger than Ganon, since he has a weakness that can easily be exploited.”

“Oh?” he asks amusedly, obviously not taking her seriously. “And what is this weakness? The only viable one of considerable threat was your sacred power, but you never were able to use it, were you?”

Okay, _that_ hurt. Unbidden, the sting of unshed tears manifests in her eyes, and she blinks to keep them at bay.

As if she needed another reminder, and a mocking taunt no less, of how the kingdom’s ruin, the deaths of everyone she loved, countless citizens, and her own imprisonment is entirely her fault.

Before she knows it, the pace of her breathing is growing erratic, and she bites her lower lip to muffle the incriminating sounds. She squeezes her eyes shut tight and buries her face into his chest to hide the tears that traitorously trail down her cheeks.

He stiffens beneath her. Suddenly, she’s being shifted into a sitting position, and she feels his arms wrap around her in a hug, which is most absurd because she never thought him capable of producing a gesture of affection aside from those of a sexual nature.

“I’m…” His voice is hoarse, unsure of how to proceed.

The trembling in her shoulders cease, as curiosity ferments in her mind. Link is always confident; he knows what he’s doing and he’s good at it. He’s never unsure about anything, or nervous for that matter. She would’ve looked up to gauge his expression if he didn’t hold her so securely to his chest.

“I…I spoke out of line. It was…callous of me. Forgive me.”

She can’t believe it. Is Link apologizing to her?! She’s never heard him apologize for anything he’s said to her up until now. What changed?

“So, you were saying about Ganon’s weakness?” he roughly snaps, apparently eager to move on and likely never speak of it again.

But, she muses with a slight smile tinged with euphoric disbelief, she’ll always remember that shred of humanity he showed her for the first time. She debates lingering on his apparent apology, badger him with questions of its legitimacy and its origin.

However, in the end she obliges his unspoken request and gets back to the subject at hand. After all, she’s trying to butter him up, not trying to make him mad.

“Yes. His weakness lies in the sword that seals the darkness, hidden away and guarded in the Great Hyrule Forest. It’s the key to defeating him.”

“Ah yes, the sword of legend, destined to be wielded by a hero of Hylia’s choosing,” he scoffs. “The sword is just that: a legend. If it’s real, then why hasn’t Ganon encountered anyone swinging it around yet?”

“You’re naïve to think it isn’t real just because you haven’t seen it,” she lowly chides, and is mildly surprised when he doesn’t scold her for daring to talk back to him. “It’s just that no one of worth has come around. However, hero or no, that doesn’t mean that Ganon deserves the throne.”

His arms have loosened their lock around her enough to allow her to pull back. She dons a sweet, unassuming smile, although she is sure to keep her focus on the blue eye. She knows if she risks glancing at the malicious one, she’ll lose all her courage.

_Here we go. No turning back, now._

“Just think of it, Link. Hyrule used to be so beautiful and prosperous before Ganon took over. Whenever I look out the window now, all I see is a sky drenched in a sea of red, and the ground is barren and empty of life. If Ganon is removed, I’m confident that Hyrule can be restored to its former glory. Perhaps even beyond.”

He leans back, crosses his arms, and smirks sardonically.

“You’re not subtle, _Princess_. I see what game you’re playing. You want me to use my position as Ganon’s second-in-command to catch him off guard and dispose of him, and then restore you to your ‘rightful’ place on the throne, is that right?”

“Not necessarily,” she admits, blushing and twisting her fingers together. Her smile wobbles at the edges. “I meant that you could overthrow him and sit on the throne in his place.” _And perhaps name me Queen._

“But I thought his one weakness is the sword of legend?” he quips, his smirk telling her that he’s merely humoring her. He’s not taking this into actual consideration in the slightest.

Perhaps another stroke to his ego will do the trick?

“I think,” she trails off in a sultry purr, leaning forward to provide him a tempting view of herself that has his blue eye dart down and darken with the telltale shadows of lust, “that you’re strong enough to defeat him without the sword. Besides, why shouldn’t you want to overthrow him? You’re imprisoned here just as I am.”

 _That_ remark sends clarity flooding into the iris as he leans away from her and barks out a disbelieving laugh.

“I think our definitions of imprisonment are vastly different.”

She sits back, forgoing with her tactic of seduction as she pouts petulantly.

“Our conditions may be different, but we’re both prisoners all the same. Ganon can control you with the malice inside you at any time he pleases.”

“He wouldn’t do that; he trusts me.”

“But he _can_.”

Link’s eyes narrow warningly, the glow of his right burning brighter in heightened anger. “I’ve humored you for long enough. I grow tired of this ridiculous idea.”

“Is it so ridiculous?” Zelda snaps, throwing caution to the wind. Forget about buttering him up; it’s time to go all in and convince him. “You’re not like Ganon; you’re not evil like he is. You’ve done despicable things, but there’s still some humanity left in you whereas Ganon has none.”

“Stop,” he warns lowly, but he isn’t forcing her, and so she persists.

“Think of how Hyrule will flourish if he’s removed! The land will be alive again; you can’t tell me you believe Hyrule is better under his tyrannical rule than how it was before?”

“I do,” he retorts, momentarily startling her into silence. “I want this. I fought for this.”

“How can you expect people to live in a world like this?!”

“I don’t expect them to,” he growls, and she shudders as that cursed eye pierces her through to the depths of her very soul. “I have no obligation or attachment to them. As long as you’re safe inside these walls, the world can burn for all I care.”

Zelda reels back in astonishment. It feels like she suffered a heavy blow from a Goron to the stomach.

“You can’t mean that.”

His answer is resolute.

“I do mean it.”

“You truly believe that Hyrule is fine the way it is? That the death and destruction mean absolutely nothing to you; that you’d rather live in a burnt husk of what was once a glorious kingdom with no opportunity for prosperity under Ganon’s thumb?”

He grins in a way that vexes her. “I am his best soldier. It would be odd to fight for a cause I didn’t believe in.”

“How in good conscience could you raise a child in this kind of world?!”

Zelda claps a hand over her mouth. The blood drains from her face, her heartbeat roaring in her ears while dizziness briefly threatens to overtake her.

Oops. She did _not_ mean to let that slip out in the heat of the moment.

Meanwhile, Link leans away from her, blinking twice in bafflement. With a sickness to her stomach, she watches as the cogs gradually turn in his head, as his blue eye clouds with confusion, then sharpens with suspicion.

“Zelda,” he murmurs. Slowly. Deadly. Like the calm before the storm. “Are you…?”

Swallowing, she steels her shoulders and braces for the impending fallout.

“Yes. I’m with child.”

The cursed eye inflames in rage, reflecting on its owner’s explosion.

“Why didn’t you take the elixir?!”

Zelda is too righteously angry to consider backing down, even in the face of that awful eye.

“I did, but no contraceptive is a hundred percent effective!”

Link snarls and rakes a hand through his already untamed hair. Some burnished gold tufts get caught between the spaces of his furious fingers and stick out in odd directions. He shakes his head a few times, likely in disbelief, before he rounds on her again with bared teeth.

“How do you even know? We don’t have a doctor here!”

Zelda purses her lips and fixes him with an unimpressed glower.

“I’ve been sick in the mornings. Sometimes I’ve suffered with bouts of fatigue and dizziness. I have an intense craving for wildberries; why do you think I request them every day? My breasts have swollen, and while you’ve certainly noticed, you haven’t taken into account why, have you?”

Link’s mouth flattens into a line, unable to refute her claim. He glares at the breasts in question, absolutely covered with his marks from greedy lips in the throes of passion.

Hmph. He may like to think he’s above the rest of them, but when it comes down to it, he really is just a man, after all.

“And, above all else, I haven’t bled in over a month,” she finishes solemnly.

Link curses and jerks his head away from her. As incensed as he is, and as much as he desires to blame her for this, he knows he can’t. To be honest, it’s his fault. He’s the one that saved her from execution for the sole purpose of keeping his bed warm. He’s the one who insisted on having her almost every night. The elixir isn’t a 100% guarantee to prevent conception, and as many times and for how long they’ve been involved, it was only a matter of time before this happened.

His awareness doesn’t do anything to quell his temper, though.

“Get out.”

The words are spoken so quietly Zelda can barely hear them. Her eyebrows furrow in misunderstanding as she asks, “What?”

“Get. Out,” he repeats, slightly louder through clenched teeth.

“But-”

“Get out!” he yells, and it’s both of his eyes ignited in rage that sends her cowering back. Swallowing a frightened gasp, she hurries to follow his command, almost tripping over the scattered silken sheets in her haste to leave the bed.

At the door, she pauses to turn back and give him a look filled with disappointment, sadness, and a trace of fear. All emotions he admittedly never wanted her to associate with him.

Gritting his teeth, he turns away from that look before it could evoke more guilt. He hears her sigh, then finally the creak of the door as it opens followed by the click as it shuts behind her.

Sometime later, who knows when, he stumbles out of bed and to the vanity. He breathes deeply, cards a hand through his hair, then drags it down his face.

The toxic orange of his eye glows mockingly in the cracks between his fingers.

_“You’re imprisoned here just as I am.”_

He draws back his fist and slams it into the glass.


	4. Take me instead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Universe: Breath of the Wild, AU  
> Rating: T

Lurelin, one of the busiest ports in Hyrule. Large ships with masts touching the rays of the sun can regularly be seen coming and going from the docks. Weary sailors can rest in one of the many lodgings, seek repairs for their ships, and perhaps have a slice of the best fish pie in the land, made with freshly caught porgies straight from the harbor.

Many consider Lurelin to be a rare paradise. Zelda might have been inclined to believe it once. Regrettably, the pirates currently attacking the port may have permanently swayed her opinion on the matter.

Zelda bites her lower lip to keep her panicked breaths at bay from inside her secret room beneath the floorboards. Every explosion from a cannon has her heart jumping in her throat, every terrified scream from a raw throat sends her burrowing deeper in her huddled position, and every resounding blast from the impact of the cannonballs leaves her shuddering in equal parts fright and anxiety.

Was that blast closer than the last one? Will the next hit her manor? Will she even know it’s coming straight for her before her untimely demise?

She didn’t have time to grab any of her valuables, namely her books and other materials used for her research, before she was hurried out of bed and ushered inside the safe room by a frazzled Cien, one of the servants. Before he replaced the floorboards, he quickly explained that the port was under attack by pirates (that explained the worrisome noises) and that as the daughter of the Governor, she should keep quiet and stay hidden for her safety.

That must’ve been at least an hour ago. Hylia only knows what happened to him. Did he escape? Was he captured? Killed?

She sends a quick prayer to the Goddesses for his well-being.

Time passes excruciatingly slowly. So far, she’s unharmed, although her arms and legs are starting to cramp from keeping the same position in the tight space for so long. The cannon fire has quieted along with the screams. She isn’t sure whether that’s a good sign.

Then, she hears them: voices. Loud, raucous voices coming from undeniably rowdy men. Men that by no means belong in her stately, polished home.

Good Hylia, have the fiends invaded her manor?!

Is her father alright? And what of the servants? She longs to go and search for them herself, just to be sure they’re safe, but then Cien’s panicked face flashes in the forefront of her mind, and the rational side of her urges her to stay. After all, they could all be safe in other hidden rooms and she’d wind up thoughtlessly jeopardizing that if while walking around, she got caught herself.

And so, she stayed put. Even when she heard the scoundrels roaring with laughter. Even when she heard them tearing through the house, likely hunting for valuables. And even when a group of them kicked down her door and ransacked the room.

Luckily, their lust for profit must’ve deafened them to the hollow ‘thunk’ their boots made against the top of her hiding spot.

She hears a few of them comment on her books and notes, wondering why a woman would be interested in those things. Zelda has to bite her tongue to keep from lashing out and giving herself away as she hears derogatory comments one after another.

If she finds a single page missing from her research, she’ll find and kill the swine herself.

Thankfully, the eventually leave her room, though she has no way of knowing what the damage is. She didn’t hear anything get broken, just her drawers and closet getting thrust open and ransacked through.

Zelda allows herself to finally let out a relieved sigh. They were here, they took what they wanted, now they’ll hopefully leave.

Unfortunately, she soon realizes that isn’t the case at all. For not too soon after they vacated her room, she hears joyous whooping and mocking laughter floating from downstairs, and the distressed shout she hears in return has the blood chilling in her veins.

That gruff voice could only belong to her father.

Before she can convince herself otherwise, she’s leaping out of the secret room and running to where the noise is originating.

Looking back on it, it probably wasn’t wise to confront a group of rogue pirates, barefoot in nothing but her nightgown and with no weapon. But none of that crossed her mind in those few precious seconds it took to run down the staircase; the welfare of her father took priority above all else, even her modesty.

Zelda scarcely withholds a gasp at the scene presented to her.

Her father, tied with his hands behind his back, forced to his knees with three, grinning pirates holding swords at various points of his neck while a crowd of perhaps 20 or so more watched with glee.

“Look what we got here, the Governor himself!”

“He’ll fetch a pretty bounty.”

“But they won’t mind if the goods are a little damaged, will they?”

They all roar with laughter while her father glares up defiantly at his captors. Zelda doesn’t wait for things to become worse.

“Stop!”

At once, the pirates go silent. They whip their heads toward the staircase, to be met with a fuming young woman with golden hair flying behind her as she rushes down the rest of the stairs to reunite with her father.

“Zelda!” he cries out, visibly surprised to see her, before it morphs to disapproval. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“And what was I supposed to do? Let them torture you and Hylia knows what else?” Zelda retorts, arms crossed over her chest.

The three pirates blocking her access to him blink, baffled by the shift in events, until they realize they’re in the presence of an attractive woman in nothing but her nightgown and start to openly leer at her.

Zelda scowls and gives them her most hateful glare.

“Let my father go,” she demands, ignoring the way their eyes take longer than what is considered polite to lift from her legs to meet her stare.

The pirate in the middle smirks, removing his sword from her father’s neck to teasingly point it at her nose.

Zelda doesn’t flinch.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Missy. Your father here’s gonna net us a pretty rupee once we take him and demand a ransom.”

Zelda’s hard façade cracks. They were serious when speaking of a ‘bounty’ before? They really mean to kidnap her father?

She can’t let that happen.

“Please, have mercy and free him. We’ll give you whatever money you want, just let him go!”

“We already took what we want,” the one on the right says. There’s nothing in his eyes that suggests to Zelda that he feels just a twinge of sympathy for her. “We want more. A pirate’s greed is never satisfied, Miss. Besides, we’d be disobeying our captain’s orders by not taking him.”

The Captain? Zelda turns to where the pirate’s gaze travels behind her, and there, leaning against the bottom post of the staircase, is a man with striking blue eyes staring at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

Zelda takes a moment to consider him. He’s shockingly young, perhaps only a year or two older than her 19 years. She thought a pirate captain would be much older, hardened and scarred from years of cruelty. This man looks smooth and carefully neutral; his eyes betray nothing of his thoughts.

He’s also dressed rather unassumingly for a captain. A fitted blue coat with no decoration, tan trousers and simple brown boots. His sleeves don’t even have the loose, silky material on the cuffs that gentlemen with his money could afford. The only telling piece of clothing that befits his position is his hat, of which has a wide brim and is adorned with a single feather that one could barely describe as an embellishment.

Clearly, this guy is all business and no frills.

Still, he is the captain, and Zelda can’t risk doubting him to satisfy her curiosity with her father’s life at risk.

So, she does the sensible thing: drops to her knees at his feet and begs.

“Please, I beg of you, spare my father! Take whatever valuables you want, anything, just please don’t take him!”

The Captain eyes her coolly, tilting his head as he examines her. The neutral frown never lifts, nor do those icy blues thaw. He isn’t moved by her pleading.

“Please! He’s an older man, I’m not sure he can survive the harshness of being held captive in a cold ship at sea.”

She can feel the sting of tears prick at her eyes, but she stubbornly keeps them at bay. It wouldn’t do let them fall and reveal a weakness to the stony Captain.

Behind her, she can hear jeers aimed at her father by the other pirates, taunting him for being too weak and old to handle a passage on a ship. One even teases him, promising him a comfortable and luxurious trip, when everyone knows it’s a bald-faced lie.

Zelda puts it all in the back of her mind. She can be angry about it later.

Meanwhile, the Captain considers her for a few more moments. Zelda waits with bated breath for his verdict, and she swears her heart drops to the pit of her stomach when his eyes narrow and he minutely shakes his head.

The pirates whoop in victory. In no time they’re roughly hauling up her father, who grits his teeth at the force used. They tap him on the back with their blades, urging him to hurry up and walk out of the manor.

“Wait!” she calls out, hand outstretched, but they pay no heed to her call.

The panic is bubbling in her belly; her breaths are becoming quicker and shorter. In a matter of seconds, her father will be marched out of the house and left to the fate of a cruel band of bloodthirsty pirates, possibly to never see him again.

Because what if they demand a ransom so high, that the King will never pay it? What if he dies from disease on the ship due to the deplorable conditions? What if they forgo the ransom entirely and just kill him for kicks?

Her gaze whips back to the unmoved Captain. His arms are crossed and he hasn’t moved since that small shake of his head. He’s staring at her, as if waiting for something. But she’s already begged him for her father’s freedom, on her knees no less! What more does he want?!

“Come on, old man, move your ass!”

“Stop dragging your feet, coward!”

“If you don’t want to move them, we’ll cut them off!”

“No!” Zelda cries, teary eyes locked with the Captain’s cold ones. There’s only one option left to try; all else has failed. “Take me instead!”

The pirates freeze in their tracks. The Captain’s eyes widen, the first show of emotion she’s seen.

“Zelda!” her father calls out in objection. Obviously, he wouldn’t be happy letting his only daughter be left with unruly pirates, forced to be subjected to Hylia knows what horrors, but Zelda has no choice.

She figures out of the two of them, she has the greater chance of survival.

When the Captain says nothing in turn, Zelda hurries to plead her case before he can refuse her.

“I’m the Governor’s daughter; I’m valuable in my own right. And not only will you get ransom offers from the King, but you’ll receive them from my father as well, since he controls our finances. Really, it makes much more sense to kidnap me instead!”

The Captain’s lips flatten. He takes a long, hard look into her soulful, green eyes.

Then he unsheathes his sword.

Zelda gasps. Did she offend him that much with her proposal?!

She shuts her eyes tightly when she sees the blade coming right for her face, and tenses when the cool metal teases her chin. Surprisingly gentle, he prods her head up so she’s almost looking at the ceiling.

Left arm bent behind his back, his right hand holding the hilt of his sword (and her life), he slowly circles around her. When he reaches her back and the sword threatens to cut her neck, he uses the blade to part the tresses of her hair, raising them up then letting them fall in a golden waterfall.

Unbidden, a shudder wracks down Zelda spine just as a mysterious heat floods the bottom of her belly.

The smirk playing at his lips she can see out of the corner of her eye must be a trick of the light.

Finally, he stands before her again, his perusal seemingly over. Then he taps the underside of her chin twice with the sword, and gradually she’s made to stand.

Breath halted in her throat, she can only gaze in equal parts wonderment and fear at the Captain. In turn, he burns her through with those eyes, that have since shifted to resemble the blue flame of the Sheikah in luminosity and heat, rather than the hard, unforgiving ice.

She doesn’t know how long they’re staring at one another, but the spell is evidently broken when one of his men clears his throat and tentatively asks, “Uh, Captain?”

He jerks back from her and hastily sheaths his sword. Without a word or hint of warning, he swoops down and scoops her up in his arms, prompting the trapped breath to leave Zelda’s lungs in a bewildered gasp.

Turning with her in his arms, he says only two words in a voice softer than she’d think a pirate capable of producing.

“Leave him.”

And then he’s striding out the door, leaving a bumbling crew in his wake to warily follow his orders, and a gaping Governor who can scarcely believe his only daughter is being taken by the most feared pirate in the four seas.

Meanwhile, Zelda glares up at her captor.

“I can walk by myself, you know.”

He sends her an unamused look.

“So can your father.”

She wisely keeps her mouth shut.


	5. Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T

“Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep!”

He groans. His head heavily throbs as if a Goron punched him. It feels like his eyelids are weighed down by stone taluses; they’re too heavy to crack open.

“Didn’t you hear me? Come on, wake up! Open your eyes!”

She sounds cheerful, happy. Like she doesn’t mind waiting a hundred years if necessary, for him to wake up.

Another groan rumbles in his throat as he finally recovers the strength needed to pry his eyes, of which are a perfect match of a cloudless sky in summer, open. The room is dim, but he can make out his tan trousers and the hem of his blue Champion’s tunic. Two dirty blond tendrils of hair that perfectly match the color of Tabantha wheat drape off the sides of his head, framing his vision.

He flexes his fingers, then tries to move his arms, but finds the action impossible to complete. The realization jolts him fully awake, and with a distressed whimper unbefitting of a fighter like him, tries once more to jerk his arms free, but it’s no use.

Whipping his head side to side, he takes in his surroundings.

Dark, lit only by a few torches. Floor, walls, and ceiling made entirely of rock. A cave, perhaps? He’s strapped to a chair, his arms and legs immobilized by thick coils of rope he has no hope of wearing down.

And in front of him, sitting as calmly as she pleases, back straight and one leg crossed over the other, is Princess Zelda.

He could say her golden hair emits a shine of its own to light this perpetual darkness as she tilts her head and smiles prettily.

“So, you’re finally awake. I was getting worried I gave you too much of a dose.”

Dose? His eyes narrow, trying to recall her meaning, but the events of the day are murky.

“You don’t remember?” she asks, green eyes innocently wide as she taps a finger against her chin. “Hmm. Perhaps I did give you a larger dose than what was required. But you cannot blame me; I couldn’t have you waking up while I dragged you down here. And believe me, anything less than what I gave you wouldn’t have kept you blissfully asleep for the journey. You’re very heavy, you know, and we hit a lot of bumps and stray rocks on the way. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’re suffering from an acute case of cephalalgia right now.”

“Cepha-wha?”

He barely recognizes the rough, gravely tones of his own voice.

She rolls her eyes and waves a hand.

“A headache, in simpleton’s terms.”

At once, her pleasant demeanor drops and she glares at him so hatefully, he’s cringing and leaning away from her.

“Because that’s what you are, you cretin. You are positively the most dullard, half-witted, idiotic _dolt_ I have ever had the misfortune to deal with.”

He can only blink helplessly in the face of her dangerous ire. Meanwhile, she uncrosses her leg beneath the billowing folds of her gown and leans forward, her glare only becoming more lethal if possible.

“Did you really think you could fool me? How stupid do you think I am?”

“I-I-!”

“Really, it’s the most grievous insult I’ve ever been blown,” she fumes, standing.

A lump forms in his throat, and a rock sinks to the pit of his stomach as she approaches him with all the fury of a woman wronged.

Suddenly, her hand darts out and snatches the base of his lower ponytail, ruthlessly forcing his head back. He lets out a pained hiss between his teeth just as he feels the unmistakable cool metal of a Kakariko kodachi poised at his throat.

“You may have fooled the rest of the castle, but don’t think for a second that I was one of your victims,” she murmurs, her voice an incensed whisper in his ear. “You’re lucky I don’t slit your throat right now for what you did.”

He gulps, and shivers when she doesn’t let up on the pressure to allow his Adam’s apple to properly bob.

“However, luckily for you, I need information. And don’t worry if you’re thinking of not cooperating, for I have plenty of ideas to make you sing.”

She pulls back, and the kodachi digs threateningly deeper into his skin.

“Where’s Link, dirty Yiga?”


	6. Gunpoint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T for drinking, guns, and implied attempted rape

There are worse jobs to be had than being a bartender for the ritzy Shadow Hamlet club. Sure, the patrons can get a bit unruly into the late hours, high on alcohol and the thumping beat of the music, but it wasn’t all bad. Getting to experiment making drinks, tips galore, and the promise of never having a dull night makes it all worth it, in Zelda’s humble opinion.

Two weeks in and she’s already come to recognize the regulars. There’s Bozai, a shameless but harmless flirt that orders the noble pursuit and tips her extremely well.

She has a sneaking suspicion that he harbors a foot fetish, based on his not-so-subtle leering of her feet while her back is turned to make his drinks. But as long as he doesn’t start begging for feet pictures, she’ll gladly pocket his rupees.

Then there’s Cado, who comes to the club mainly to drink his sorrows away brought on by his divorce, but once he gets enough liquor in him, he’ll talk her ear off (or any patron unlucky to be his victim for the night) about his hoard of cuccos.

Zelda isn’t sure if it’s legal to keep cuccos in the city, but figures that if his care reflects on his outspoken love for them, it’d do more harm than good to have the cuccos taken away from him.

There’s also Bolson, the flamboyant and fabulous construction worker that always requests her to make a new, fancy concoction he found online that week. Thankfully, he keeps a picture of the recipe on his phone and lets her check it repeatedly to make sure she gets the drink right. It’s fun to see a new surprise each Friday night, and the silver rupee he gives her for her trouble isn’t so bad either.

And of course, she can’t forget about the hot guy with blue eyes like a nightshade flower staring at her—

Wait.

Zelda does a double-take, cleaning rag frozen on the counter.

She doesn’t know this one. This man isn’t a regular, nor anyone she’s seen before. She _knows_ she wouldn’t be able to forget him if she had. No man that good-looking is forgettable.

He’s standing a few feet away from the bar counter, body swiveled towards the stairs, yet his head is turned to lock eyes with her. Two loose tendrils of burnished gold hair frame his impressive jawline, while tufts of it spill onto his forehead, though not long enough to hinder his vision.

Unbidden, her gaze travels lower, over the crisp folds of his black suit jacket to the fitted edges of the paired vest beneath. His tie is the only source of color on him: a lovely sky blue that matches the luminosity of his eyes.

Speaking of, she snaps her eyes back up to his, and subsequently feels her face flush with a rush of heat as she notices the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

And then he’s turning, not paying any mind to the latest hit blaring out of the speakers, nor does he stop for a drink. He walks up the stairs, to the forbidden VIP section. Zelda hasn’t been granted permission to serve up there yet; perhaps in a month or two when she gains more experience.

Or, evidently, about 15 minutes later.

“Oh man, oh man, oh man!”

Zelda pauses in pouring a cocktail upon hearing the dulcet tones of her boss’s anxiety surfacing again. She quickly hands off the glass to the customer and puts the owed rupees in the register before giving her attention to a nervously sweaty, finger-wringing, Yunobo.

“What’s wrong, boss?” she quips, hoping that teasing him will relieve some of the tension obviously plaguing him. But in the face of her cheerful attitude, he grows _more_ distressed, if anything.

“Everything, everything’s wrong!” he wails, causing some of the customers to questioningly furrow their eyebrows.

Zelda ushers him to the empty side of the bar and prompts him to speak lower with a whisper of her own.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Goro? I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“It _is_ bad!” he protests loudly, completely disregarding her cue to whisper. The poor man looks like he’s about to cry. “I must’ve done something wrong, because he wants you to wait on him!”

Zelda blinks, not understanding the turn this conversation took.

“Who’s he? Why does he want me to wait on him? And why is that bad?”

“ _He_ is the owner, Link Wild!” he hisses, finally bringing his voice down if only to say that name. “And I don’t know why! I went up there as usual to serve him, but he ordered that _you_ serve him for the night instead. And when I tried to tell him that you don’t have enough experience since you’ve only been here two weeks, he insisted you be sent up.”

 _And warned me not to make him repeat himself a third time_ , he recalls with a violent shudder.

Zelda is lost for words. Is Link Wild the same man she just got done ogling for a solid minute before he went up to the VIP section? Did she just eye-fuck her boss’s boss?

She swallows. No wonder he wants to see her so badly; he undoubtedly feels insulted by the brazen way she looked at him and wants to berate her for it. Likely fire her as well.

Damn. That’s the last time she looks at a hot stranger for longer than two seconds.

Still, she musters a wobbly smile and places her hands on his trembling shoulders for comfort.

“It’s alright. I’ll go up there and just do my job. What’s the worst that could happen?” _Besides being fired?_

Her words do little to satisfy him.

“A lot can happen,” he bemoans. “You could mess up his drink, or spill it on him, or trip, or-!”

“Mr. Goro!” she interrupts, and says with an exhale, “Relax. I’m sure I’ll be just fine. I’ll be more careful serving him. Besides, he already knows I haven’t been here long, so he shouldn’t be expecting perfection. Everything will be fine.”

And, as it turned out, it was fine. Perfectly fine, even. She didn’t mess up his drink, spill it on him, or even trip. Best of all, he didn’t fire her! He didn’t even give her a ‘stern warning’ for her lack of professionalism in her staring.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t talk to her at all save for his requests for a simple scotch on the rocks. Always scotch on the rocks. He never drinks anything else, which is honestly kind of a letdown. She was expecting that an intimidating owner of his caliber would have a complicated drink that would’ve scared her almost as much as Yunobo is scared of him.

He’ll look up at her occasionally from some paperwork when she sets his drink down on the table, though he never offers a smile or a hint of what emotion she sees burning in his eyes.

During the nights in which he visits the club—which has become every weekend now—to save herself from dying of boredom, she keeps herself occupied by reorganizing the bottles from the private bar and cleaning the already spotless counter, in between making discreet glances in his direction.

Not longer than two seconds, though. Never longer than that. She doesn’t want to risk getting caught again.

But overall, it’s not a bad change in station. For the most part, he’s like any other customer. Except he always dresses in a suit, and sits in the VIP section, and has money to spare if the gold rupee he always tips her with at the end of a night says something, not to mention he’s handsome as sin…

She really needs to just keep her head down and do her job.

One night, there’s a change in atmosphere she notices right away. For one, by the time she arrives in the VIP section, he’s not alone. At one end of the table sits her boss’s boss, though he’s flanked on both sides by tall, muscular men she wouldn’t want to meet in a back alley at night.

They seem to be locked in a stare down with the trio of strangers facing them. The one that stands out to Zelda the most is a noticeably heavyset man sitting directly opposite to Mr. Wild. He’s older, maybe 40 or so. His long, black hair is tied off at the top of his head in a bun and catches a ray of the dim lighting.

Whereas Mr. Wild’s suit is neatly pressed and tailored to perfection, the older man’s has a few wrinkles and fits looser, almost as if he picked it up off the floor and wore it because he couldn’t be bothered with expending energy on appearances for this supposed meeting.

She wonders if her boss’s boss perceives it as an insult.

None of the six men pay attention to her as she ties on her apron, nor do they spare her a glance when she walks over, notepad in hand, to get drink orders.

Their low murmurs die off once she arrives, bright smile in place despite her nerves.

Because she knows this isn’t a regular table. Something weird is going on, but she has to grin and bear it even if her gut is telling her to run.

“Mr. Wild?” she prompts, pen poised to paper. She already knows what his order will be at this point and is confident she can make it while sleepwalking. Still, it’d be rude not to ask.

“Scotch on the rocks,” he replies without fail, though this time he doesn’t look at her. His flinty stare is unrelenting on the older man in front of him.

She bites her lip and pretends it doesn’t hurt as she writes it down.

Luckily, his friend is in better spirits and beams at her.

“Hey there! Get me a gin and tonic, with a lot of rocks if you don’t mind.”

His jovial attitude releases some of the tension plaguing her shoulders, and her smile is more genuine as she takes his order. It carries on to the man on the other side of Mr. Wild, and though he’s not as cheerful as the first, he’s still polite to her.

Her smile frays at the edges, but stays in place as the two burly men on either side of Older Man place their orders.

It ultimately drops completely when Older Man, who she will now refer to as Old and Creepy, leers at her for the longest time, bringing about a silence that borders on awkward, before finally placing his order.

She may have set his glass down a little harder compared to the others. And may have also taken a little victory in seeing Mr. Wild’s eyes narrowed in a dangerous glare. Of course, she isn’t naïve enough to believe that his displeasure stems from another man unabashedly giving her suggestive looks, but the thought prompts a flutter or two in her belly.

While Zelda wipes down the counter, she can’t help but look at Mr. Wild in between scrubbing. In her defense, it’s not her fault. She’s been doing it for so long that her eyes just automatically seek him out. Not that she blames her eyes for developing a mind of their own; as she said, sinfully handsome.

Unfortunately, it’s one time too many that she ends up locking gazes with Old and Creepy. A corner of his lip turns up in a slimy grin that turns her stomach. The urge to run grows stronger than ever as each stare shifts into something dirtier than the last, but the desire is tempered when she sees that Mr. Wild has noticed Old and Creepy’s drifting attention.

He looks at her, then at Old and Creepy. His menacing glare abruptly turns murderous and his hand clenches around his glass.

Fearing a scene unintentionally caused be her, she races over with bright smile intact and, nearly breathless from the rush to the table, asks if anyone would like refills or something new.

Out of the corner of her eye, she senses a slight movement, and she instinctively zones in on it.

And that’s when her smile and something else drops in her stomach.

There. Poking out of Old and Creepy’s exposed jacket. His hand is reaching for a carton of cigarettes, but it’s not the smokes that frighten her.

It’s the handle of a gun.

Even when his jacket closes, she can’t stop gawking at that spot. A gun, this man has a gun! A real gun, likely loaded with real bullets! Why would he bring a gun in here? Is he planning to shoot her? Mr. Wild? Everyone? He can stand up and end her life in a second if he’s so inclined.

What kind of business meeting is this?!

Someone clears their throat, and without knowing who made the sound, for some reason she whips her head around to Mr. Wild. Something has softened in his eyes, melting the ice into a watery blue like Lake Hylia. If she doesn’t know better, she would say that he looks concerned for her.

But evidently not, as he clears his throat again and roughly orders another round be brought.

Still, lack of concern aside, she has to warn him about the gun. She doesn’t know Old and Creepy’s intentions. Maybe he just carries it around for protection. However, as Mr. Wild is sitting directly across from him, which makes him an easy target, Zelda deems it necessary.

_The man in the middle has a gun. Be careful._

She folds and slips her note around the glass, covered by her hand. However, instead of simply setting down his drink, her hand lingers. She locks eyes with Mr. Wild, who’s undoubtedly wondering about her strange behavior. In turn, she silently pleads with him to somehow understand her purpose, using her eyes to speak to him rather than words.

Those intense blues peer down to her very soul. They’re as blank as ever, and as always, Zelda can never guess the thoughts and secrets swirling behind them. For a moment, she fears that her meaning will be lost. She’ll be forced to unhand the drink and therefore the note. It’ll fall to the table, and what if Old and Creepy steals it and finds its contents insulting to his character and he-

But then she feels it. Warm, calloused fingers curling around her own.

His eyebrows slightly furrow as he stares unblinkingly at her. For a moment she wonders if he got her cue, but is reassured when his fingers slightly tighten around hers as an undeniable sort of signal.

Relieved, she slowly releases the glass, and Mr. Wild’s hand glides over her own to cover the note. Without a beat she serves the other drinks, all while pointedly ignoring Old and Creepy’s suspicious look on her. To continue the act that nothing is amiss, she sweetly smiles at him even though she wants to pour his drink over his head.

Afterward, as Zelda washes the used glasses, she surreptitiously glances over to see Mr. Wild’s reaction to her note.

But instead of reading it as she had been inclined to believe he’d do, she’s appalled and nearly drops the glass in her shock when he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cigarette and lighter, apparently not bothering with her note of warning at all in favor of fulfilling his nicotine fix.

He smokes. Welp, not only does her attraction for him plummet, but a part of her that respected him dies with it.

Meanwhile, oblivious to her disgust, he puts the cigarette between his teeth. He then sets the lighter up in front of it, then uses his other hand—the one that took the glass from her—to cup it around the expected flame.

However, after a few, quick flicks in rapid succession, she doesn’t see the subsequent smoke pouring from his mouth. Curious, she leans over to see what the problem is. Because it’s a little odd that a wealthy smoker would ever allow himself to have an empty lighter.

Old and Creepy offers a light from his own, but Mr. Wild lifts a hand to refuse and ends up forgoing the effort altogether, putting away the cigarette and lighter back in his jacket pocket.

But, she muses with a secretive grin, not before she caught a glimpse of the white slip of paper held in the cusp of his hand.

Putting on a ruse of lighting a cigarette just to read her note…how clever.

Needless to say, her disgust with him ultimately doesn’t last long.

…

Two hours later and with 600 rupees in hand (he left her two gold ones this time), Zelda bids a good night to Yunobo who is closing up the main bar. The club is silent, a stark contrast to its usual noise of people laughing and dancing to the pounding music.

Purse in hand, she leaves the club while looking forward to a peaceful night in her apartment, eating a delicious and nutritious meal of instant noodles and falling asleep on the couch in her apartment.

Alas, it isn’t meant to be. For she doesn’t predict she’ll be leaving this alley she’s trapped in anytime soon. Well, not without a bullet in her, courtesy of Old and Creepy grabbing her and holding her at gunpoint.

What is he even doing here, she asks herself angrily as the barrel prods her cheek, indicating her to move her head up and to the side, exposing the vulnerable part of her neck to his sickeningly greedy gaze.

“You must be really special to be Link’s personal waitress,” he whispers suggestively, acrid breath washing over her and nearly making her gag.

Smoke and alcohol. A gross combination, in her humble opinion.

“Heh,” he chuckles, “You should’ve seen how pissed he was when all I doing was looking at you. Looked like he wanted to tear my head off, just for admiring you. Must be a reason he’s so possessive…”

She recalls Mr. Wild’s mentioned glare and tries her best to replicate it, despite her panicked heartbeat roaring in her ears.

Just one little flick of his finger, and she’s dead…

To her dismay, he merely chuckles some more at her pathetic imitation of Mr. Wild. The gun presses harder into the soft, yielding flesh of her cheek, and she drops the act in the face of her miserable failure to intimidate him.

“It’s not fair that he expects to keep you for himself. A girl as pretty as you should be shared. And I can think of no one better than me to borrow you, as his business partner.”

Everything happens at once.

His hand grabs at her blouse.

Zelda opens her mouth to scream and makes to rip herself free, even after her many repeated (and failed) attempts.

The bang of gunfire.

The realization that she’s alive.

A masculine, anguished scream.

And a gun clattering uselessly to the pavement.

Then the _clack, clack_ from a slow, drawn out series of ominous footsteps echoing down the alley. A figure shrouded in shadow appears, hand holding their gun still raised threateningly, ready and able to shoot again.

As Zelda’s widened eyes adjust, her mouth drops open.

There, in all his suited glory, is her boss’s boss.

Of course, since he’s not ordering a scotch on the rocks, he isn’t looking at her. Instead, in a rare show of emotion, his eyes are crackling with pure, unadulterated fury as he scowls at Old and Creepy, who is currently on the ground trying to nurse a bloody hand through his whimpers and tears.

Mr. Wild doesn’t give him a chance to explain himself before he’s aiming the gun directly at his forehead.

“Sorry, Mr. Kohga. I’m afraid we won’t be able to make that deal, after all.”


	7. Who are you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Gunpoint  
> Rating: T

He has the decency to drive her home afterward.

The car ride is spent without a word passed between them, with not even the radio to disturb the charged silence. Zelda sits straight with her hands clasped in front of her, eyes glazed over and unseeing past the windshield.

Because, though he told her to close her eyes and cover her ears beforehand, the gunshot still echoes in her ears, and she suspects it’ll haunt her in the ensuing days and nights to come. The sound may have been muffled at the time, but in her mind it’s as loud and clear as if she stood right beside the barrel herself.

Her teeth gnaw at her bottom lip, having to resort to chewing the sensitive flesh due to the lack of an outlet to unleash her anxiety upon because of the present company involved.

They’re little more than strangers, after all. If she wants to go further, then she can say they have a strict employer-employee relationship. There may be an attraction and a tension between them thick enough that the mythical Master Sword can cut through, but they don’t know each other on a personal level.

Apparently, he realizes this as well and wants to get to know her better. Why else would he have asked her to dinner for the next night?

And why does she go against her better judgement and say yes?

Let’s see: shady business meeting held with even shadier men, he later goes on to shoot one of said men dead, and she swears she heard something about a ‘cleanup’ when he briefly spoke on the phone to someone.

Although, he did shoot Kohga to save her. Other than that, she hasn’t seen him express any sort of violence. He’s never treated her wrongly, and acts like a gentleman when he stops at her apartment, walks her to her door, and finally asks—not demands like a man of his stature might be expected to do—her to have dinner with him.

She probably shouldn’t have said yes, despite the good he did for her. Yet, she’s intrigued by him, and—again, against her better judgement—what exactly he’s all about. It also doesn’t help that while in the face of that captivating, passionately heated gaze of his that threatens to burn her to the core, prompting something to twist and curl deliciously between her thighs, she finds it almost impossible to refuse him.

Now here she is, at a table in the finest restaurant in the city, in a small, intimately dim room with just the two of them—how much did he pay to have _that_?—sitting across from a man that can likely kiss her and kill her in the same breath if he so desires, and no one would know.

She asks him questions, trying to get to the bottom of what transpired the night before.

He’s unsurprisingly pretty tight-lipped about it. Only says that it was a business meeting (as if she hadn’t already garnered that) to discuss a possible deal with Kohga. Of course, that brought on the question of who Kohga was.

His lips flatten to a line and his gaze flickers to the side. His index finger starts drumming against the white table cloth. This is the first time she’s ever seen him be hesitant about something. He doesn’t want to admit the truth and is probably considering how far he can stretch it.

“An aspiring foreman,” he says at last.

She has more questions now than what she came in with.

“Who are you?”

He sends her a long, hard look. His finger ceases its steady rhythm.

“Someone you shouldn’t get yourself involved with.”

Zelda’s brows furrow, confused and taken aback by his answer in that rough voice, as if he hates that he said it and wishes to take it back, but is powerless to.

“Then why are we here?”

Something heated ignites in his eyes. Judging by his frown, he’s aware and hates it.

“Because I’m selfish.”


	8. Hostage Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to: Take me instead  
> Rating: T

Whispers, shared between crewmates when their Captain isn’t around, run rampant aboard the _Blatchery_.

_“I heard he turned down the last ransom. 50,000 rupees, it was.”_

_“The Captain must be losing his mind.”_

_“How long is he planning on keeping her here?”_

Unbeknownst to Zelda, she shares the same sentiments with the pirate crew. It must have been at least a month by now, and still she is confined to Captain Link’s quarters. She should’ve been home by now with her father, reading about ancient Sheikah technology and experimenting with herbs. Not sitting with her arms crossed on a small mattress she has been regrettably been forced to sleep on, boring holes into the four wooden walls that form her prison.

Her father, with aid from the King, must’ve offered a sizeable ransom for her. He _had_ to have done so. He wouldn’t abandon her to be left in a pirate’s grimy grasp. He’d do everything he could to save her.

So why then isn’t she free, yet?

Speaking of the bane of her existence, the Captain himself chooses that moment to come waltzing in. He doesn’t spare her a glance as he removes his hat and sets it on his desk, revealing thick, silky-smooth hair that touches his shoulders.

She would know the texture of it, having been sleeping next to him for at least a month. She wakes up to it tickling her nose since he always sleeps with his back to her.

He may be keeping her as a hostage, but at least he’s a gentleman…in a sense.

However, prospective gentleman or not, she wants to get out of here. She must, despite how her traitorous heart has taken to racing in his presence, and how her face flushes with a feverish heat. Her stomach suffers from an acute case of indigestion whenever he pins her with those blue eyes swimming with an emotion she can’t quite place.

He makes her feel all sorts of symptoms from diseases, yet she reasons that, by all logic, she can’t have one since she feels perfectly fine when he leaves her alone.

It’s utterly mystifying.

And vexing. She’s had enough, and no number of symptoms are going to stop her from getting answers out of him today.

“How long are you planning on keeping me here?”

He swivels his head to face her and lowers his eyelids in a dry look. After a beat with no further prompting on her part, he turns back around and sits in front of his desk. He reaches for a scroll and a modest quill, then dips it into the inkwell and begins writing.

She grits her teeth. She never liked being ignored, and it most assuredly doesn’t sit well with her that whatever rubbish he’s writing, it’s more worthy of his attention than her situation.

“Answer me. Why am I still here? I’m sure you must’ve received a ransom by now.”

“They weren’t high enough,” he gruffly replies, not bothering to spare her a cursory glance.

She bristles, white hot anger striking her body like a lightning bolt.

 _They_? The plural form of ‘it’? Meaning ‘more than one’? He had multiple offers and turned them down?

“Not high enough?!” she screeches. Death Mountain during the throes of a violent eruption would quiver in fear in the face of hers. “How greedy are you, you bastard pirate? Just settle for a ransom and let me go already! This has gone on for long enough.”

The light scratching of quill against paper halts.

“You take many liberties for a prisoner,” he growls lowly, budding temper simmering on the surface, but carefully held in check.

Zelda doesn’t care about the aftermath of what unleashing the full bout of his temper would bring. She’s going to plead her case and he is going to hear every word of it.

“I shouldn’t even be a prisoner anymore! You should’ve taken the rupees and let me go. Don’t you hate sharing a room with me? I take up most of the bed and I’m sure you’ve stepped on my hair one time too many. And don’t you hate having an extra mouth to feed? We’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean; you can’t afford to waste food on someone who should’ve been gone long ago. So why are you keeping me here?”

He turns around in his chair and glares at her.

“If you haven’t figured it out by now, then I fear the intelligence you boast of is a fabrication.”

Zelda gawks in indignant shock. How dare he have the audacity to call her stupid!

“I am intelligent, you no-good pirate! You’re the stupid one for keeping me here for no rea-mmph!”

Thoroughly distracted from the slight committed against her mind and during the throes of her rant, she hadn’t noticed Captain Link stand and come to a stop in front her. Bending down, with a hand uncharacteristically tender on her cheek, he swoops in and claims her mouth in a rough, purposeful kiss.

Pulling back a second later, he glowers at her while she’s staring in stunned silence, her entire speech forgotten.

“That’s why.”

And with that brusque remark, he turns around and leaves the room, locking the door behind him.

Zelda blinks. Racing heart, feverish flush, and indigestion: all come back with a vengeance that leaves her dizzy.

_Oh._


	9. Identity Reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T

Zelda refrains from cringing when she feels the telltale warmth of Link’s lips lightly brushing her cheek.

So, it’s one of _those_ nights again.

She can’t react at all, otherwise he’d know she’s awake. She can’t let that happen again. Last time it did, he waited until she truly fell asleep before sneaking out to do Hylia knows what.

She waits until after she hears the bed rustle, then their bedroom door opening and closing with a soft click. After that she waits exactly 20 seconds—because he shuts the main door so quietly, she can never hear—until she cracks her eyes open.

Phone in hand, the time 2:18 A.M. glows mockingly at her.

She fights back tears as she rises out of bed to get a glass of water. No point in trying to go back to sleep when she knows it’s futile. On nights like these, she’ll be up for hours wondering what her boyfriend of two years is up to at this time, trying to figure out a reason besides what a normal girlfriend would assume.

Tonight is no different.

* * *

Despite Link’s frequent disappearances, he’s always there in the morning when she wakes up. He’ll be in the kitchen, cooking a delicious breakfast in that adorable blue apron he wears, then turn around and smile lovingly at her like she’s the most beautiful girl in the world, while she’s standing there with rumpled pajamas, ratty hair, and eyes still crusty with sleep.

He’ll kiss her soundly, somehow ignoring her morning breath, then serve her so that she doesn’t have to lift a finger. Then he’ll join her at the table, occasionally commenting on something here or there. He never was much of a talker, but he’s improving every day they spend together.

After they’ve both eaten, she’ll get ready for work while he cleans up their plates. He’ll pack her lunch and make sure she doesn’t forget it in her haste to rush out the door. Finally, he’ll kiss her cheek good-bye (or on the lips if he’s feeling frisky) and she’ll be on her way.

While she’s out of the apartment, she can only assume that he cleans it and otherwise maintains it. She can never find a speck of dust, the kitchen is always stocked with food, they never run out of supplies, and she hasn’t touched a bill since living there, so it’s safe to assume that Link keeps up with all of them.

Her lunch is always impeccably made; she can taste the love and care he put into making it. But no matter how much she loves his cooking, it’s nothing compared to the little notes he’d leave her.

Everyday in her lunch, she’ll always find a note from him. They range from well wishes for a good day, to encouragement if she has an intimidating meeting coming up, to warm affection, and to the spicy kind that never fail to induce a blush and make her toes curl in her heels.

It’s as if he feels guilty for leaving her all those nights, and as a result, tries to make it up to her in all ways possible. When taking into account all these things (and more) that he does for her, it makes it hard to consider leaving him as she probably should.

But evidently, none of those things are enough to convince Purah of his love.

“Are you kidding me? 2:18 in the morning? This is ridiculous, I don’t know how you’re still with him.”

Zelda sighs in between bites of her reheated vegetable risotto. Despite it having suffered a trip to the microwave, it tastes almost as good as if it just came off the stove. She has no idea how Link does it.

“I know, but-”

“No buts!” Purah snaps, leveling her with a harsh stare through the glint of her glasses. She points a perfectly manicured red nail at her colleague above her lunch of leftover pumpkin stew.

“No guy who isn’t cheating just leaves his girlfriend, in their shared apartment mind you, without telling you where he’s going at two in the morning. There’s no excuse! He’s cheating on you and taking advantage of your naivety.”

“I’m not naïve,” Zelda protests weakly. But how can she say that when she doesn’t even fully believe it herself?

She can’t meet Purah’s eyes and resorts to picking absently at the risotto. Suddenly she doesn’t have the appetite to finish it, despite how delicious it is.

“Then you’re dense,” Purah retorts, then sighs upon realizing how mean she’s being to her friend. Her tone considerably softens when she continues.

“Zelda, I care about you. You’re too good to be with a cheating bastard like that, and deep down you know it too. I just can’t understand why you’re still with him.”

“I know, but he’s so sweet otherwise! He always cooks for me, the apartment is always spotless, and he always kisses me in the morning even when I look like shit and probably have the breath to match it, and Purah…sometimes he’ll have this little smile on his face and he just gets this look in his eyes…”

Zelda can’t help but smile fondly upon recalling it.

“Like he just loves me _so much_ , that I’m the only one. I know it sounds cheesy, but after seeing it, the idea that Link is cheating on me becomes ridiculous. I think to myself, ‘How can I doubt him after seeing him look at me like that?’ Besides, you know how hard it was to go out with him in the first place. I want to think twice before throwing it all away.”

Indeed, it was hard as heck to get Link to admit his attraction and jumpstart their relationship. They met on a sunny afternoon in May when she visited her father’s company, Castle Corp. She unknowingly barged in on a meeting her father was having with Link. He had stared at her blankly, then got up and left without a single word exchanged between them.

She thought he was strange and a little rude, to be honest. A pity since he was so handsome.

They encountered each other a few more times after that, Zelda accidentally interrupting meetings between him and her father (of what purpose she only received vague answers for) and Link leaving them without a farewell.

Since he seemed to be a colleague of sorts with her father, she tried being friendly. She’d seek him out after he’d leave the office and try to start a conversation. She talked about everything under the sun, from the local restaurants and entertainment, to Castle Corp., and finally to the personal stuff.

She told him about her job as a researcher and developer at Sheikah Tech, how the silent princess is her favorite flower, and even how much she adores fruitcake and will never turn it down. She hoped sharing this side of her personality would get him to share in return.

But of course, Link being Link, he never answered her and just stared at her throughout all her hard efforts.

Eventually, she realized it was a lost cause and plainly told him that she can tell when she’s not wanted, and that if he really hates her that much then she’ll leave him alone.

It was when her back was turned and she was a few steps away that she heard it.

 _“I want you_ ,” followed quickly by a harried, as if he made a mistake and wished to correct it, _“I don’t hate you.”_

From there, it was more of pulling teeth to get him to open up. But open up he did, slowly and surely, until finally she walked into her father’s office only to see Link holding a bouquet of silent princesses in one hand, a homemade fruitcake in the other, and a blush luminating the tips of his ears as he asked her to dinner with that smile that made her heart melt.

When asked what made him ask her out, he claimed that he was tired of being selfless and for once he was going to take what he wanted. Zelda never fully understood and he never offered to elaborate.

So, to willingly throw away their entire development…well, it’s not something she wants to do on a whim. She has to think long and hard about this. Because other than his vanishing acts in the middle of the night, she can think of no other reason to break up with him. She loves him, after all. She can easily picture spending the rest of her life with him.

However, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to tolerate his disappearances for a lifetime.

Presently, Purah frowns. “I know it took a lot for you guys to be together. It definitely wasn’t at the snap of a finger,” she joked, sparing a cynical chuckle before sobering. “But you have to when he’s cheating on you like this. There’s nothing that justifies that.”

“I know,” Zelda agrees, melancholy. “But it’s just so hard to do so, especially since we don’t even know for sure if he’s cheating.”

Purah sends her a flat look. “What else could he possibly be doing?”

“I don’t know,” Zelda snaps back defensively. “I’m just saying we have no proof. For all we know, he could be somewhere drafting his lunch notes to me. Speaking of…”

Zelda sticks her hand in her lunch bag to retrieve today’s note, but has to yank her arm out when Purah snatches it away before waving a finger at her, ignoring her sputtered protests.

“Nuh uh, no way! You need to toughen up and dump his ass, and to do that, you’ll start by not reading these cheesy love letters anymore.”

“They’re not cheesy,” Zelda pouts.

Some of them are cheesy, extremely so, but damn her if they don’t put a smile on her face. Because that’s what Link intends for when he writes them, right?

“They _are_. And they’re spoiled, rotten cheese with mold growing out of them since he’s nothing but a no-good cheater. Trust me, Zelda, this is for your own good.”

And with that, she takes the note and rips it cleanly in half.

* * *

Link is strangely tense when she arrives home.

From the moment she walked in the door and hung up her jacket he looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for something. Confused, Zelda greets him with a kiss as per the usual before going to their room and changing out of her work clothes.

He appears equally confused after she brushes past him, and doesn’t speak a word until dinner, whereupon he asks her the question that has her blood freeze.

“So, did you read my note today?”

His hand is on the back of his neck, the tips of his cheeks glowing with an oddly pink hue. He’s glancing up at her through his dark, golden lashes, as if hesitant to meet her gaze. Or nervous? Could Link possibly be nervous? About what?

The last time she saw him like this, he was about to ask her out. She doesn’t understand what the occasion calls for this time.

Could he somehow know that she never read the note? That Purah ripped it in two then pocketed the pieces, with the promise that she’ll burn it posthaste?

She doesn’t want to lie to him. But seeing the pain in his eyes that she knows will be there should she admit the truth will hurt worse.

So, she plasters on a wide, beaming smile, and says, “Yes, I did. It was very sweet!”

His eyebrows furrow, and Zelda’s smile falters at the corners. Not only has her blood frozen, but now she swears her heart has stilled as well. Does he know? Does he know she lied? Does he know she never even touched that note, let alone read it?

But her fears dissipate when his mouth curves into a slight smile, although it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Thanks. Took a while to think of what to write. I wanted it to be perfect, since you know how bad I am with words. Glad you thought it was sweet.”

He chuckles then, although it sounds anything but amused. To be honest, it sounds…sad. And bitter. And resigned. But why?

She opens her mouth to question him, but he stands from his chair before she can voice anything. He walks over to her, then bends down to kiss the crown of her hair.

And then he simply retreats to their room, leaving his untouched salmon meunière on the table, and a worriedly confused girlfriend in his wake.

* * *

Things are even more strange in the coming days.

Link still kisses her in the mornings and cooks and otherwise acts normal, but there’s an underlying tension between them she can’t seem to shake off no matter what she tries.

Then there’s Purah, who suddenly can’t meet her eyes and avoids having lunch with her.

What is going on?

She’s sick of not having answers, and tonight, after she feels Link kiss her good-bye, she finally does something about it.

It’s probably immoral to install a tracker in Link’s car that she uses to track him down to a lavish apartment building in the heart of the city at 1:38 a.m., but there are worse sins committed every day.

For example, it’s wrong to clamp your hand over someone’s mouth to muffle their terrified screams as you tear a knife across their neck with no hesitation.

It’s not until the body drops to the floor that Link sees her. If he wasn’t clutching a knife dripping with blood and wearing that black dress shirt she remembers scrubbing for a half hour last week, wondering what kind of unholy substance could create such a tough stain, she might have laughed at the way the color drains from his face and his mouth opens in a comical ‘o’ shape.

But because he’s clutching a knife dripping in blood, and wearing that black dress shirt she now realizes was stained with blood, she clamps her hands over her mouth and muffles her own terrified scream.

Well, at least he’s not cheating on her.


	10. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale to "I can't take this anymore" and "Imprisonment"  
> Rating: M, because Zelink is still unhealthy in this  
> Warning: Mentions of abortion, blood, and murder

Link has never considered the idea of fatherhood in his life.

He was born to kill, not nurture. His hands were crafted to hold swords, not fragile little babies. People look at him with terror in their eyes, never with wide-eyed curiosity and inherent trust.

He was simply not meant to be a father. He knows he wouldn’t be a good one. To be honest, he’d probably be a terrible one. Fathers are meant to be caring, kind, supportive, encouraging…everything he isn’t.

And yet…

He can’t imagine doing the alternative, which would be to force Zelda to drink an elixir to abort the baby. Because that’s _his_ child growing inside her, something that _he_ helped to create. He can’t snuff out that little spark of life. For the first time since he can remember, he can’t find the strength to kill someone he should.

And by Demise, he knows he should.

Just because Zelda never was able to access her sealing power, doesn’t mean that her child will suffer the same anomaly. For all he knows, that baby could come out glowing like a star fragment and incinerate Ganon from 20 rooms away.

That is, if the child is a girl. Legends say that only girls in the royal family are born with the sacred power of Hylia, not boys. But would Ganon even wait to see the outcome, or would he not take the chance and cut the baby out of Zelda before it could draw its first breath?

Link sets down his glass of wine before his temper can get the better of him and he accidentally shatters it.

Boy or girl, ideal father or not, he will not allow anyone to hurt what’s his.

Not even Ganon.

_“You’re imprisoned here just as I am.”_

“Astor told me something interesting the other day.”

Link refrains from rolling his eyes. If it were up to him, he would’ve slit that little shit’s throat a long time ago. Unfortunately, for reasons beyond his understanding, Ganon values his gift of foresight.

He once offered to dress up in a tattered, old cloak and proudly hold a staff while spouting nonsense, but Ganon immediately shot his idea down, although not without a hearty laugh for his efforts.

“Did he now?” Link asks, carefully indifferent as he picks up his glass again and takes a sip, letting the rich alcohol warm his tongue.

Ganon hums, tipping back his own glass for a taste.

“Yes,” he murmurs above the rim, his blazing orange eyes piercing through Link.

At first, the intensity of those eyes had unsettled him, but in time he’d gotten used to it. Thus, he can understand why Zelda refuses to directly look at his right eye for too long.

“He said that you will betray me.”

“Ridiculous,” Link scoffs, and this time he drops the idea of good manners and deliberately raises his eyes heavenward. Can he go one day without the jealous bastard practically begging for his death by his hand?

“Is it?” Ganon mildly retorts, his countenance deceptively calm that has Link immediately bringing up his guard. “Is it so ridiculous? He also mentioned that your fallen princess will be the catalyst behind your betrayal, and it’s no secret that you’ve become attached to her.”

Link’s eyes narrow as his lips purse.

“You said I could have her,” he murmurs lowly.

“I did. But I never predicted how long you’d hold on to her. I assumed you’d tire of her eventually. How often do you bed her? Every night?”

Link’s hand tightens around his glass.

“None of your business,” he replies icily.

“None of my business?” Ganon repeats, eyebrows raised. For a moment he looks truly scandalized, like he never imagined in his wildest dreams that his top subordinate would ever have the audacity to refuse him something.

And then his face breaks out into a humored expression, as if he’s trying to defuse the tense situation. That would be a first, Link muses, since all Ganon seems to live for is chaos and destruction. He didn’t think ‘defuse’ was even in Ganon’s vocabulary.

“Alright,” Ganon acquiesces, chuckling. “I suppose there are some things that even I have no business of knowing. Still, you must admit your attachment to her is growing to be a little frightening. Perhaps I can take her off your hands for a few nights, help you break this bad habit of yours.”

“You said I could have her,” Link repeats darkly, not amused in the slightest. “‘Taking her off my hands’ was never part of our agreement. Neither did we discuss a time limit on how long she’s mine for. Are you going back on your word?”

He had never dared to speak to Ganon with such insolence before. It was always a nod, or a ‘yes, sir’ if he was feeling particularly chatty. Never outwardly angry or borderline threatening. His king can walk over and snap his neck if he so desires.

He doesn’t understand where this boldness and abandon for caution has come from.

Well, perhaps he does, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

Meanwhile, Ganon mockingly holds up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

“Not at all, my friend. She’s all yours. Although, if you _are_ feeling generous,” he says, trailing off suggestively as his eyes glaze over with obvious lust, prompting Link’s teeth to clench and his grip on the glass to tremble.

“You could loan her to me for a single night?” Ganon asks, grinning slyly. “I haven’t had a chance to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh as of late…”

_Touch her and I will gut you like the pig you are._

Link swallows down his initial response and instead opts to answer with a firm, resounding,

“No.”

Ganon shrugs, appearing none too offended by Link’s rejection of his proposal. “Fair enough. I guess can understand why you’re so attached to her. While her bloodline is unfortunate, she does have a lovely visage.”

Then, barely giving Link time to process it, Ganon’s mood turns and he frowns, all lust and good humor gone from his expression. Those toxic orange eyes run Link through as if they were daggers.

“Just remember your allegiance is to me, first. Astor hasn’t been wrong before, but for your sake, I hope there is indeed a first time for everything.”

With that ominous warning, Ganon pulls back his chair and departs the dining hall, his towering build causing his heavy footsteps to echo throughout the room.

Link should be reflecting on the obvious threat. He should be thinking of ways to reassure Ganon of his loyalty. Yet all his can think of is a conversation he had with Zelda not a fortnight ago,

_“What was it you said, about a sword?”_

* * *

Admittedly, Link is surprised that he was able to perform the feat at all. The evil murderer that he is, with all the blood on his hands, was chosen to wield the pure blade blessed by Hylia Herself? He’s probably the least one worthy of touching it—let alone swinging it around—second only to Ganon himself.

Then again, most of the capable men were either buried in the ground, lying dead in the crumbling ruins of a fort somewhere, or burned to ash thanks to a Guardian laser. He supposes the sword had to make do with what it was offered. As long as they share the common goal in annihilating Ganon, the sword must not care much about the dubious morality of its master at this point.

Link has no choice but to betray his king. Zelda’s condition is beginning to show, and while Link can hide her in her room all he wants, he knows he can’t hide a squealing, crying baby for very long in the castle walls.

Ganon would eventually find out, whether it be from hearing a stray wail while walking along the corridor, observing the inevitable bags under Link’s eyes caused from sleepless nights soothing the baby, or offhandedly inquiring about the recent influx of puréed mighty bananas sent to Zelda’s room.

He knows Ganon wouldn’t take the news lightly. He wouldn’t wish for their happiness and health then carry on his way. He’d either cut it out of Zelda upon discovery, or if he doesn’t find out until after the birth, he’d kill the innocent baby girl in case she’d wield Hylia’s power one day and oust him from the castle.

Of course, there’s a chance it could be a boy. But Link isn’t willing to take that gamble.

He doesn’t bother with dramatics when making his grand siege of the castle. The Heroes of old probably confronted their versions of Ganon in a throne room, the ensuing fight making for a legendary spectacle that would be told of again and again for the new generations until fact faded into legend.

He is not one of those Heroes.

He quietly slays each monster he comes across in the castle. None of them attack him first, as they’re used to his presence and don’t perceive him as a threat. It’s of no matter to him; he could do with not enduring fight after fight. This just makes his job easier.

As for Astor, he finally enacts on his desire and slits that little bastard’s throat in his sleep, almost taking his entire head off thanks to the size and width of the Master Sword. He wipes the disgusting blood staining the sword on the bedsheets before prowling to his final destination: Ganon’s quarters.

When he does confront Ganon, the manifestation of evil is slumbering rather peacefully in his four-poster bed, black drapes drawn and wrapped around him so that the sun’s rays won’t wake him in the morning.

Really, Link is doing Ganon a service. Now, he won’t have to worry about the sun waking him up ever again, because Link takes the opportunity to impale him through the heart before he can finish his light snore.

Not exactly a fight for the ages, but he got the job done, and that’s what matters.

By the time he makes it back to Zelda’s room, his tunic is covered with monster guts and his fingerless gloves are stained with a foul mixture of the fortune teller and malice incarnate’s blood. At first, Zelda jumps and lifts a hand to her heart, undoubtedly frightened by his appearance. But then she sees the _twin_ —not singular—cerulean eyes peering unflinchingly back at her, and her gaze lowers to the sacred sword glowing with a holy blue light gripped in his palm.

She sighs and her shoulders slump in relief.

“You…did you…?” she breathily asks, her whisper on the verge of breaking due to how much she can scarcely believe it. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to handle it if his answer is anything but a yes.

He grins, but it doesn’t give Zelda any relief. Rather, it instills a sickening sense of dread that sinks deep to the pit of her stomach, and her tentative smile falls.

“I did,” he says simply, before tossing the sword to the ground and drawing closer to her. He doesn’t care much for the divine significance it holds, nor the proper protocol likely established for handling the blessed artifact. It’s a glorified tool created for the sole purpose of killing Ganon; a sacred tool, but a tool nonetheless. He used the tool to complete the job and that’s that. He could care less of what happens to it now.

At present, other things are far more deserving of his attention.

His hands land on her delicate shoulders covered by the thin material of her white nightgown. Ignoring how it stains red beneath his touch, he gently prods her to turn to face the mirror of the vanity. His gaze drops to the slight swell of her abdomen, and his lips curve into a smile as he carefully wraps his arms around that spot.

“Of course, I did,” he murmurs, never taking his eyes off her wide ones as he presses a soft kiss to her cheek. “He would’ve killed our child, possibly you as well. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Because I’m yours?” she asks, a touch of a daring sarcasm in her tone that leaves him smirking.

“Exactly. Besides, shouldn’t a father want to provide the best for their child? I can’t imagine anything better than inheriting a kingdom for the little prince or princess.”

Zelda’s mouth parts, taken aback. Hope starts to traitorously flutter in her chest. Does she dare believe…?

“Does that mean-?”

“Yes, you’ll be my queen.”

Zelda’s expression instantly brightens, blooming with the hope that she’ll finally have free reign of her home once more. Granted, she’ll have to spend the rest of her life with a monster, but she supposes that as long as she has some power, she’ll be able to endure it.

And then, to her unease, his smile gains a sinister edge, and she curses herself for being naïve yet again.

“In name only,” he finishes. His arms tighten a fraction around her. Protecting the baby, or to keep her in place? “I suppose you can walk around the halls since you won’t be in danger if you should step outside your room anymore. But you won’t have any actual control in running the kingdom.”

He loops his finger around a stray lock of hair, and watches idly as the tendril spirals out of his finger in a curl and falls behind her shoulder.

Zelda shudders as she feels his lips press another kiss to her cheek.

“Did you really believe that anything would be different?”

No, she supposes she didn’t. Not really. She isn’t that stupid.


	11. Don't Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale to Gunpoint and Who are you?  
> Rating: T

_“Who are you?”_

_“Someone you shouldn’t get yourself involved with.”_

Zelda is many things. She thought she definitely could include ‘smart’ as one of them, but obviously not, if she disregards clear warnings like this and still chooses to date the man.

Although, in her defense, Link has proven to be a pretty good boyfriend thus far. Sure, his communication skills need work; it’s too often that Zelda starts and ends up taking over the entire conversation without any input from Link. He hardly talks at all and it’s plain to see that he isn’t used to saying more than what is strictly necessary.

But, with gradual, careful prodding, he slowly but surely has been opening up to her. Sometimes he’ll talk to her completely unprompted, which may be a given in most relationships, but to Zelda it's a big step in the right direction.

He barely smiles either. If he wasn’t the one continually asking her out, Zelda might have thought that he didn’t like her after all. However, it turns out that Link just isn’t an expressive person in general.

Which makes all the little smiles and amused grins she sometimes coaxes out of him all the sweeter to savor.

Link may not be the conventional boyfriend of a girl’s dreams, but Zelda finds herself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

Yet there is something about him that bothers her. And no, it’s not how he still has the power to blindside her with his sinfully good looks—seriously, eyes like his should be illegal.

No, it’s because that even after dating for a month, she still isn’t sure what exactly he does for a living. He’s extremely vague when asked about it, only telling her that he’s a businessman and not giving her much else to work with.

Pretty shady, in all honesty. His warning about dating him, how he killed a man without hesitation, conducting suspicious business deals in VIP sections in clubs, all are signs that she should probably run for the hills and not look back.

But then she’ll pause for breath mid-ramble about ancient Sheikah technology and notice his soft smile, or she’ll reflect on the exhilarating heat his ravenous lips on hers bring about, and she’ll deem the true nature of his job of no further concern.

* * *

She doesn’t recognize the man he’s sitting with tonight.

Although, seeing as there aren’t any papers on the table and they’re playing what looks to be a game of poker, she believes this is more of a casual meeting.

Zelda doesn’t want to go as far as to assume they’re friends. She already made that mistake once, after seeing Link sitting with a jovial older man one night talking enthusiastically to him. There hadn’t been any papers on the table that night either, only continuous rounds of drinks as they conversed.

Later on, when they were alone, Zelda teasingly asked Link if that was his friend, since he never mentions one and otherwise doesn’t seem to have any.

Cue her awkward embarrassment when Link informed her that while he’s friendly with the Zoran business group, they aren’t exactly friends. Apparently, Mr. Zoran’s associates were greatly offended when Link refused a deal a few years prior to marry Mr. Zoran’s daughter, Mipha.

Since then, relations between them have been rocky. But Mr. Zoran (who surprisingly was the only one who didn’t seem insulted), is determined to ignore his associates’ flinty glares at Link and try to continue on as if nothing happened.

That was the last time she asked about any of Link’s possible friendships.

But so far, this one looks to be in the running for it. He’s perhaps a couple years older than Link, with shockingly white hair like the snow on Mount Hylia pulled back in a topknot. His smile was equally as blinding when she took his order, and his voice a rich baritone that she could easily imagine crooning a romantic ballad.

He’s handsome, but he fails to hold the same allure as Link does.

The stranger’s crimson eyes stare intensely at the cards in his hand, but they dart away every so often to look at her as she’s preparing their drinks. Zelda offers a tentative smile back each time before returning to her task at hand.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, a pair of cerulean eyes take note of each interaction between them.

With the drinks finished, Zelda smiles as she walks them over to the table. It falters a little at the edges when she sees Link calmly place his cards on the table, figuring he must have lost and is trying to take it with dignity.

She tries to meet his eyes to give him a sympathetic smile, but he doesn’t acknowledge her efforts and instead keeps his stoic gaze pinned on the cards.

Zelda ultimately shrugs it off, having learned by this point not to take it personally. She sets down their glasses with a ready smile, and is about to ask if they require anything else, when the rest of her sentence leaves her in a startled gasp as she feels a pair of familiar hands grab her waist.

Without a word, Link lifts her up and proceeds to gently set her on his lap. Refusing to meet her subsequent bewildered look, he nonchalantly picks up his cards again, although he has to loop his left arm around her waist to hold them properly.

Zelda bites her lip, hesitantly peeking up at the stranger across from them. His eyes widen, flickering between herself seated in Link’s possessive hold, and Link, who doesn’t bother to deign either of them with a cursory glance as he peruses his cards.

The stranger abruptly rips his eyes away from her and practically buries his face in his own cards.

Curious, and resigning herself to the fact that she’s going to be here for a while, her gaze drifts down to Link’s hand.

Ten, Jack, Queen, King, Ace—all of hearts.

Suddenly his fingers curl, and the royal flush is hidden from her view. Zelda’s lips twist in an indignant scowl as she sees a corner of his own tug upwards into a smirk.

Fine. She can understand a message when she sees one.

_Don’t look._


End file.
